Paradise Fashion House
by fergkat
Summary: Intrigue was not the principal emotion John Moray felt upon first seeing Denise Lovett; that came later. No, first came surprise, then concern, then a deep stab of magnetic attraction with a hint of lust. Modern AU, Denise/Moray.
1. Prologue

Notes:

1. I apologise to everyone who has me on author alert for an entirely different genre. After not writing for so long, I'm trying my hand at something different. Let's see how it goes!

2. I fully expect no-one to read this story. _The Paradise_ is an obscure choice but there's something about it that draws me in; I can't help myself. If it appeals to you too, feel free to leave me a review!

_Disclaimer:_ The Paradise belongs to the BBC/Masterpiece and Emile Zola. It is not mine.

* * *

Intrigue was not the principal emotion John Moray felt upon first seeing Denise Lovett; that came later. No, first came surprise, then concern, then a deep stab of magnetic attraction with a hint of lust.

He'd stepped out of the coffee shop across the street with a spring in his step, heading towards the office. He strode around a corner, thoughts intent upon his first meeting of the day, when he ran headlong into a small figure coming the other way. His coffee sprayed every which way; the person he collided with bounced onto the footpath with an undignified flail of limbs. He gave a muffled curse and dropped the takeaway cup, leaning down to help the stranger to her feet.

As their eyes met, he was shocked by the thrill he felt pass through him: something he'd not felt in longer than he could recall. Her eyes were a vibrant shade of blue. _Periwinkle,_ he thought to himself. Her eyes were framed by a face that was pure perfection in Moray's eyes: clear skin, pink pouting lips and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair fell in long blonde waves down her back, over her green corduroy jacket, almost to her waist. She wore the most sinful pair of jeans he'd ever seen, clinging perfectly to her curves and tempting him to touch. And oh, he wanted to touch; he wanted to touch so very much. He automatically helped her to her feet and attempted to snap himself out of the stupor he felt.

'I'm so sorry; are you alright?' He asked as he gently held her elbow. 'I should have been paying more attention to where I was going.'

The girl laughed. 'No need to apologise,' she replied in a lilting Scottish brogue. 'I should have been paying more attention; it seems like you came off the worst for our encounter,' she gestured to his chest, which was now splattered with what seemed like half of his cappuccino. 'I'm just a little dusty, myself.' She smiled gaily at him.

He grinned back. There was something about this girl which drew him in, made him forget about his ruined suit and the meeting he would now be late for. He wanted to forget about his plans and take this girl for coffee and learn everything about her all at once. He couldn't explain it; it was as if she were a magnet, drawing him to her.

'I need to dash,' the girl continued. 'Good luck getting the coffee out, and have a nice day!' She picked up her bag from the footpath and skipped off around the corner in her little green ballet flats before John could utter another word. He watched her go with regret, wishing they'd talked longer. He didn't even know her name.


	2. Chapter One

Eight months later:

Denise stood in front of the sink in her small kitchenette, swaying softly and humming along to the Beatles song currently cued on her iPod. She relished the feel of the cold tiles through her stockings; after almost twelve hours crammed into four inch stiletto heels her feet appreciated the reprieve. Her mint blouse, normally buttoned to the neck, had been loosened enough to reveal a lacy, cream-coloured camisole. Her black, full-circle skirt swirled below her knees as she twirled, waiting for the sink to fill.

Today had been a good day. Work had gone well and she'd managed to fit in a brief stopover to her uncle at the hospital during visiting hours. He'd been well enough to talk some, and Denise felt like she'd been able to alleviate some of the irrational guilt he'd felt at her situation. The heart attack and botched bypass surgery wasn't his fault and she'd done what she had to do in order for them to cope. Switching her uni enrolment from full- to part-time and picking up a full-time job (in the industry she had eventually wanted to work in anyway) wasn't the hardship that her Uncle Ed seemed to imagine it was. Yes, she was working as a glorified secretary (read: Executive Assistant to the head of the Fashion Department) but it was a foot in the door, and one she would normally not have expected until she was a graduate, or in the final year of her degree at least. After everything that had happened, Denise felt like she'd fallen on her feet.

The sink full, Denise quickly and efficiently washed her day's dishes: a plate (from breakfast), two glasses, a bowl and a saucepan. The rest of the pasta she'd made was sitting on the bench, waiting to be put in the fridge. By the time she'd dried the dishes, drained the water from the sink and put away the pasta it felt well past bedtime. It was only 9pm but she'd been woken before 5 o'clock that morning by an irate Miss Audrey, who'd found something awry in her schedule and was 'requesting clarification.' She was actually thankful for the request, given that it had allowed her to leave work before the end of the hospital's visiting hours.

Walking to her small armchair, she propped her leg on the seat and raised her skirt high enough to reach up and unclip the suspenders from the tops of her stockings. In her first year at uni she'd worked as a sales assistant in a high-end lingerie store. She'd gained an appreciation for such things – the feel of them, the look and the confidence they gave you just by wearing them. She'd amassed quite a collection, through commission and staff discounts, and now owned an extensive range of undergarments: corsets, bustiers, balconette bras, French knickers, teddies, slips, stockings and suspenders. And she loved it. No-one else had seen her collection (and no-one else was likely to, given her current nun-like existence) but she wore it all for herself, not for anyone else's benefit. She sighed as she rolled her stockings down, thinking longingly of her ready access to such things in the past. Now she'd have to scrimp and save and shop all the sales she could find in order to feed her addiction for sensuous undergarments. Aside from the confidence boost it gave her, she felt a hidden thrill from knowing that, though she showed very little skin to the world - unlike Clara, the design assistant who favoured low-cut blouses and miniskirts – Denise wore sumptuous clothes underneath. It was her little secret.

Tossing her stockings into the laundry basket she unzipped her skirt, let it fall in a pool on the floor, stepped out of it and walked to her bed, undoing the buttons on her blouse as she went. The blouse was tossed in the direction of the basket and Denise donned a pair of white and blue paisley pyjama pants. She walked back, wearing her camisole and pants, to pick up her skirt and hang it, gathering her blouse to place in the basket as she went. She put the kettle on the hob and walked into her bathroom to remove her makeup, then went back into the kitchen to make a cup of tea: a herbal blend of chamomile, mint and lavender. Taking this to her bedside, she climbed under the covers and grabbed her reading glasses, tablet PC and stylus, settling in to read at least a chapter on branding within multinational corporations. She would read for half an hour as she savoured her tea and then settle in for a long-anticipated sleep.

* * *

The next morning Denise woke a few minutes before her 6.30 alarm. She curled into a ball in her queen-sized bed and then stretched her limbs out as far as she could in each direction. As her alarm sounded she turned it off with a gentle tap and rolled gracefully out of bed, heading in the direction of the bathroom to get ready. It was a Saturday, so she wouldn't have to work unless called in by Miss Audrey, who often came into the office on Saturdays to review the week's work. There was the floral-themed shoot to plan, prints to look over and new fabrics to style; the week's work was never done for Miss Audrey, who lived and breathed for the ParadiseFashionHouse.

Denise brushed her teeth and dressed in her exercise gear before collecting her stack of textbooks, her tablet, her yoga mat and an apple as she rushed out the door. She had an early Pilates session and from there she was heading to the hospital to study with Uncle Ed.

Two hours later she was entering the hospital lift, freshly showered and dressed to face the world; she shifted her bag on her arm and pressed the button for the sixth floor. She was feeling energised from her workout and bounced on her toes as the lift moved upwards. Stepping out as the doors opened, Denise walked down the corridor and knocked on her uncle's open door with a smile.

'Denise,' Edmund Lovett spoke as loudly as his voice would allow, 'two visits in twelve hours: aren't I spoiled?' He was still weak but he voice carried a cheerful note which warmed Denise's heart to hear.

'You know I can't stay away uncle,' Denise replied with a sunny smile. 'I've brought my study with me so I can stay through visiting hours, even if you fall asleep on me,' she joked.

Edmund smiled tiredly, 'I'm sorry love, I've just had no energy lately…'

'It's fine,' Denise said firmly, 'you need to get well and for that you need to sleep. I'm just happy to be here with you. How have you spent the past half day?'

'Sleeping mostly,' replied Edmund ruefully, 'watched a little bit of telly, took my pills. How about you? No early morning calls from Miss Audrey?'

'No,' Denise laughed, 'I've been just as boring as you; I made carbonara last night with fettucine and did some reading for class. I went to the gym this morning and now here I am.'

'And you look a picture,' Ed commented. Denise's lemon-coloured sundress clung lightly to her torso, with a skirt which billowed loosely and fell to her knees. 'You deserve to go out and have fun, rather than being stuck here with me. I should have taken better care of you.'

'Less of the guilt and self-pity, Uncle,' Denise replied sternly. 'I like to be busy and, in the long run, working as I am now is going to be much better for my career. I don't regret a thing. Except that you are so unwell, of course.' She decided to change the subject, 'what have the doctors said?'

'That I have to stay here longer,' Edmund grumbled, 'more tests, more pills, more rest.'

Denise decided that yet another change of subject was in order. 'Miss Audrey said she might stop by later today,' she commented idly. Denise wasn't sure of the exact details of her uncle's acquaintance with her boss but she was astute enough to realise that any mention of her caused Uncle Ed to perk up immeasurably.

Sure enough, Edmund sat up straighter against his pillows, 'you don't say? Isn't that kind of her to take the time when she's so busy?'

'Mmhmm,' Denise responded absently, knowing he didn't require a response. She began pulling textbooks from her bag.

Sure enough he continued, 'her workload is just so high and that slavedriver Moray demands so much that it's no wonder that she works on a Saturday. If Moray's competition hadn't caused me to put the business up for sale, she could've come work with me,' he grumbled.

Denise had heard this soliloquy before but couldn't help but interject, 'Uncle, you know that Mr Moray didn't cause you to go out of business; shifting market forces have pushed sales away from custom-made fashion and into ready-made designer wear,' she waved one of her textbooks around, 'I'm an expert now, remember?'

Edmund huffed, 'that business had been in our family for generations. It's a bitter pill to swallow, that's for sure. And it wouldn't have gone downhill so quickly if Moray hadn't set up shop across the way.'

'Think of it this way Uncle,' Denise replied patiently, 'your health wouldn't have permitted you to keep working much longer. If you'd stayed working you might be in a much worse situation than you are now. What would happen to me if you weren't here anymore?'

Edmund patted her hand, 'you're right of course, my dear. At least you'll be twenty one soon, and will have access to the inheritance your parents left you.'

Denise frowned. 'I wasn't thinking of money Uncle,' she chided, 'but of you yourself, as you should well know.'

'Very well Denise,' Edmund replied, his good humour restored. 'Tell me what you've been studying this week.'

Together they settled in for a morning of conversation, light slumbers and study.


	3. Chapter Two

The _Paradise_ was a veritable fairyland to Denise: it was a haven of fabric and couture clothing, of concept sketches and marketing campaigns. Denise loved it all; and every morning she walked through the door she felt like a princess in a palace of her own imagination. Who needed a prince when you had such delights to hand?

She was unsure how she'd managed to gain a position working for the illustrious fashion house (she thought perhaps it had to do with the enigmatic relationship existing between Miss Audrey and her uncle). Whatever the reason, she was not about to let down the organisation which had seen fit to employ her when she most particularly needed the assistance.

On this particular autumn morning Denise strolled through the front doors with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. Her pale blue gown, with cap sleeves, scoop neck and white-belted waist, made her feel like she was walking on a cloud.

As she passed through the entryway, she noticed Mr Moray and Miss Audrey in earnest conversation. On perceiving her Mr Moray called out, 'Denise! Might we have a word?'

'Of course Mr Moray,' Denise replied as she approached. She nodded to Miss Audrey, 'good morning, ma'am.'

'Denise, we have a rather unusual problem this morning,' Moray began. 'It appears that all three of our shop assistants are ill – a rather unfortunate food poisoning incident, it would seem – and we are quite at a loss for staff in the boutique.' Moray referred to the small flagship store attached to the _Paradise_ offices. He continued, 'with your experience in retail and your impressive references we were hoping that you would stand in for the day.'

Denise suppressed her thrill of excitement at the possibility; it might not seem like a desirable opportunity for most but it would give her a chance to gauge the clientele of the _Paradise_. 'It would be a pleasure to help sir,' she replied, 'as long as Miss Audrey is agreeable, of course.'

'I'm sure I can spare you for a day,' Miss Audrey remarked, 'as long as this food poisoning incident does not turn into an epidemic!'

Moray smiled, 'you are most obliging, Miss Audrey.' He turned to Denise, 'I shall endeavour to find some assistance for you among our other staff. Perhaps Clara?' He mused.

'Thank you sir,' Denise replied. 'I'll go to the boutique now and get ready to open.' With a smile and a nod she turned and walked away. She had at least an hour before the boutique was due to open and she intended to make the most of it by getting to know the layout and the stock, having had only a brief introduction to the store on her orientation tour. Perhaps she could experiment with some of the displays, if there was enough time?

* * *

An hour later, Denise was caught up in creating a new display in the centre of the boutique. The bright colours she'd chosen would attract attention from the street and hopefully draw more customers in. As she was finishing up, Moray strolled through the door.

'Denise, what a delightful display,' he complimented. 'Combined with your particularly glamorous appearance this morning, I am sure that we shall attract heretofore unimagined numbers of customers.'

Denise blushed at his effusiveness. 'You're too kind sir,' she said, 'if I'd known I'd be in the boutique today I wouldn't have dressed so elaborately. It draws attention away from the clothes.'

'Perhaps,' Moray conceded, 'but if it draws more customers through the doors I will not be one to complain. It is a stunning gown,' he commented, examining the dress. It was a gorgeous concoction of duck egg blue cotton sateen in a flattering 1950s cut, with a fitted bodice and full skirt. 'Where on earth did you find such a treasure?' He asked.

'My uncle designed it for me for my last birthday,' Denise explained, 'before he became ill. I wouldn't normally wear it to work but it seemed just the thing when I opened my wardrobe this morning.'

'Well then, we shall make quite the pair,' Moray replied, gesturing to his grey three-piece morning suit. 'Clara had dinner last night with the shop ladies and I was unable to find another replacement. I have no meetings scheduled today, so I've decided to get in touch with our customers and do some market research.'

Denise smiled with delight and, glancing at a display of neckties, was struck by a thought. 'If you'll allow me to make a somewhat impertinent gesture sir-' she smiled sweetly as she plucked a duck egg blue silk tie from the display '-if you wear this, it might appear as though we are purposely dressed for the occasion, rather than compensating for an unfortunate food poisoning incident.' She smiled impishly to soften the impudence of her words.

Moray couldn't help but smile back. 'Yet another excellent suggestion; allow me to acquiesce to your request.'

After Moray had donned his new tie, he and Denise completed the final opening preparations. As they opened the doors, Denise was struck by yet another idea. Moray noticed the look on her face and asked, 'what is it Denise?'

She hesitated, 'I have another idea, sir…'

'Another one?' Moray asked with a laugh. 'Well, let's hear it.'

'Well,' Denise began, 'what if we were to post information on social media about the boutique? If people knew you were personally selling the _Paradise_'s products-'

'-it might draw people in-'

'-almost like a flash sale!'

'Excellent Denise!' Moray exclaimed, impulsively taking her hand to place a kiss on it. 'Let me get in touch with Dudley. Perhaps we could get a photo… yes, that would be perfect!' He walked to the phone at the counter.

Denise blushed with surprise at his actions. She was sure he didn't mean anything by the spontaneous kiss on the back of her hand; he was merely caught up in the moment. She was glad that he was pleased with her ideas.

In no time at all Dudley was in the boutique, Pauline trailing him with a camera in hand. As Moray and Denise posed for Pauline, Dudley remarked, 'this is an excellent idea Moray; whatever made you think of it?'

'It wasn't me, Dudley,' Moray replied, 'it was all Denise. Perhaps she should be in marketing instead of the design department?'

Dudley raised his eyebrows and glanced at Denise. 'Perhaps. It would seem that Denise's talents are wasted in taking notes and answering phones, that's for sure.' He looked at his watch. 'We've already got people working on the wording for the post. We'll have it up in no time.'

'Thank you Dudley,' Moray answered, glancing at Denise. 'Wish us luck!'

The success of the post was such that the boutique was bustling within half an hour of the information going up. Denise and Moray didn't have a moment to rest all day and Moray was sure that they would break all sales records since the launch of the boutique.

When they finally closed the doors at the end of the day Moray thought he'd collapse with exhaustion if it wasn't for the elation coursing through him. He glanced at Denise, who looked similarly euphoric whilst trying to inconspicuously rest her sore feet, which had been trapped in her white patent leather heels all day.

'Take off your shoes and rest your feet Denise,' he remarked. 'If anyone deserves a little informality after today, it's you.'

Denise smiled gratefully. 'Thank you sir,' she answered, 'when I put these on this morning I was anticipating sitting behind a desk all day.' She laughed and added, 'but this was so much better.'

'It was, wasn't it?' Moray asked, 'it almost deserves a celebration.' He glanced around at the disarray the store was in. 'I'd suggest dinner but considering that it was food poisoning that got us into this situation, maybe not.'

Denise giggled. 'Perhaps not the best idea.'

The stood together in the middle of the boutique: Denise in stocking feet, Moray with his tie loosened, jacket discarded and the top button of his shirt undone. Struck by a sudden impulse, Moray asked, 'do you know how to waltz, Denise?'

'Yes sir,' Denise replied, thinking wistfully of the dancing lessons her parents had forced on her when she was young.

'Excellent,' he briskly replied. He took a small step back, bowed formally from the waist and said, 'Miss Denise, would you do me the great honour of dancing a waltz?'

Denise smiled, repressing her laughter at his exaggerated actions. 'It would be my pleasure, Mr Moray.'

Together they waltzed in the middle of the boutique, the formality of their movements contrasting sharply with the disarray of clothing and accessories surrounding them.

Dudley, entering the boutique, was struck by what an arresting pair they made dancing to music no-one else could hear. He silently motioned to Pauline, who held the camera, to take a few shots of the couple. He'd come to get a photo for a follow-up post and the unscripted scene he'd encountered was better than anything he could have staged. He pulled out his camera phone to film them.

Considering the noise the camera shutter made, it took far longer than Dudley would have expected for Moray to realise that he had an audience. Upon catching sight of them, Moray stumbled slightly but quickly caught his footing. Denise looked at him in confusion, before glancing over her shoulder to see Pauline clutching the camera, a Cheshire cat grin on her face.

Denise flushed as Moray brought their dance to a smooth conclusion, bowing over her hand as they halted. Denise automatically curtseyed in return, prompting another photo from Pauline.

'Aren't the pair of you just the perfect picture?' Pauline couldn't contain herself. 'You look as though you've just come home from an elegant soirée and had such a fabulous time that you don't want the evening to end.'

Moray smiled good-naturedly, while Denise continued to blush. Dudley looked entertained as he explained, 'we've just come to get some shots for a follow-up post: a "thanks for coming, we hope you had as good a time as we did." Sam's working on the wording. You've provided the perfect images: I'm thinking a collage, or a picspam, or even a gif…' his voice trailed off.

Moray looked amused, 'whatever you say Dudley. I think we all deserve a drink; and something to eat: I haven't eaten all day. Once you've finalised the post and we've tidied up here, I'm taking you all for dinner. The sales are going to be unprecedented; I think we should celebrate.'

'Hurrah!' Pauline cheered.


	4. Chapter Three

Denise practically skipped into work the next day, still elated by yesterday's success. As she bounded in the front doors of the _Paradise_, she was struck by several facts: firstly, everyone seemed to be looking at her as she entered. She discreetly checked her reflection: hair in a neat bun, pastel green shift dress unwrinkled, shoes clean. She couldn't fathom it. Secondly, whilst most looks she was receiving seemed to be jealousy or envy, Clara – still green around the gills from her run-in with bad sushi – looked positively murderous. Finally, Pauline looked downright giddy as she rushed across the foyer to greet Denise.

'Have you heard?' Pauline asked, in a tone of irrepressible excitement.

'Heard what?' Denise replied, entirely baffled. 'Has someone won the lottery?'

'No, silly,' Pauline giggled, 'much, much better. Particularly if you're you.'

'What I have I done?'

'You, Miss Denise,' Pauline proclaimed excitedly, 'have become quite the phenomenon. Those pictures we took of you and Mr Moray yesterday have gone completely viral; people are wondering who you are, asking each other whether you're his secret fiancée. You're even in the newspaper!'

'What?' Denise whispered, overwhelmed. She certainly hadn't expected such a response to her spur of the moment idea. What was she to do? What did Mr Moray think?

Pauline prattled on, 'I've been up all night monitoring the feeds. I know it's going above and beyond but it is my job and it was so exciting! People are talking about it outside the city – even internationally! Mr Moray's love life is so mysterious and he's so good-looking and charming and you both look so fabulous together (didn't I say you did?) that people have become obsessed. The _Paradise_ has never had so much attention!'

Denise felt faintly ill. She hoped Mr Moray wasn't offended; she'd never intended such a result… she really needed to go talk to him. Absently waving off Pauline, she headed in the direction of her desk to drop off her bag, before heading for Mr Moray's office.

* * *

Moray hadn't slept that night. After their celebratory dinner Dudley had gone home to his family, while Moray, Denise, Pauline and Sam had headed out to a local bar for drinks. They'd had quite the time, enjoying the jazz music and general ambience. Pauline and Sam had flirted up a storm, whilst Moray and Denise had quietly discussed marketing ideas for The _Paradise_. Moray could tell that marketing was a strong passion of Denise's and her thoughts were captivating. He'd particularly liked her idea of a highly exclusive loyalty program for their highest-spending customers. Her idea of soirées to launch the latest ranges, complete with champagne and _hors d'oeuvres _held great promise. What he'd particularly wanted to hear more of, however, was an idea she'd begun voicing after her third gimlet, hand on his arm – _I do love gin, Mr Moray: gimlets and gin sours and pink ladies and French 75s_ – and she'd talked of a co-launch with another boutique designer. She'd specifically mentioned lingerie and the idea had intrigued him. He intended to ask her more about it.

He'd gone home soon after, seeing Denise to a taxi and making sure the driver was paid in advance, with a tip. He was home by midnight and soon after that he'd begun getting automated notifications that the _Paradise _was trending online. Curious, he'd sat down at his laptop and found that the day's minor publicity stunt had gained such notice that it had become quite the sensation. He knew his notoriety in the media; he traded on it, used it to get publicity and press. But this was above and beyond anything he'd managed to achieve in the past; he was awed at the response, to be honest.

He looked at the photos which Dudley and his team had posted. It was the selection taken at the end of the day which had gone viral: he and Denise looking tired, rumpled but brimming with joy, waltzing in a room without an audience, at their ease. They did look quite the perfect couple, he had to admit, right down to the shirt he wore which matched Denise's belt and discarded shoes and the tie which matched her dress. He couldn't have done it better if he'd sat and planned the thing weeks in advance. He felt yet more admiration for Denise.

He stayed awake, monitoring the chatter until it was time to get ready to go into work. He took particular care with his appearance, knowing he would be in the public eye more than ever today, choosing another morning suit - this time in navy blue.

He'd not been long in his office at the Paradise when there was a knock on the door. Before he could speak, Dudley entered, an impressed look on his face.

'I woke up this morning Moray, to more publicity than the _Paradise _has seen in the past year together,' he said almost reverently. 'I'm sure that this is going to send sales through the roof; in fact it might be best to have more staff in the boutique today. I'd recommend against yourself and Denise though, in order to build the anticipation.'

'I couldn't agree more,' Moray replied. 'Who could have foreseen the reaction to a few candid photographs? Denise is a genius.' They both contemplated the ramifications of such publicity, and wondered how long they could sustain it.

Dudley excused himself to go back to his department, 'there's just so much to be done; it's enough to make me wish we had a dedicated publicity department!'

Soon after Dudley departed, there was another knock on Moray's door. This time, it was Denise who looked around the doorframe, a nervous look on her face.

'Ah, Denise!' Moray exclaimed. 'Just the person I wanted to see.'

'Mr Moray,' Denise began anxiously, 'I had no idea that my plan yesterday would gain so much publicity. I'm sorry if it's not the kind of attention you were after.'

Moray laughed. 'Not the kind of attention we were after? Denise, any publicity is good publicity and this is better than we could have imagined. You really are a treasure, a champion; my little champion…' he mused.

'Thank you sir,' Denise replied, relieved and blushing at the compliment. 'I honestly didn't foresee gaining this kind of notoriety; I was only hoping to boost sales in the boutique.'

'And you've done so much more than that,' Moray commented admiringly. 'You do have a knack for marketing, don't you? Dudley's department is scrambling for ways to capitalise on the attention. In the meantime it may be a good idea for you and I to stay out of the public eye.'

'I can do that,' Denise responded, 'I don't think I know how to deal with such attention.'

Moray chuckled, 'I'm sure you will manage with your customary grace and charm,' he complimented. 'In the meantime, perhaps you could stop by marketing with any suggestions you might have.'

'I'll see what I can come up with,' Denise answered, 'but I think I might be too close to this one to see clearly.'

'As you wish, Denise,' said Moray. 'Before you go, I wanted to ask about the idea you mentioned last night for a collaboration, or a co-launch? You mentioned lingerie.'

Denise blushed, 'I should apologise for my forwardness last night Mr Moray. I hadn't had much to eat yesterday and those drinks went straight to my head.'

'Not to worry,' Moray assured her, 'you didn't act in any way which you need be ashamed of.'

'Thank you,' Denise replied. 'The idea I was thinking of was more of a collaboration than a co-launch, though it could be both,' she explained, gaining momentum as she went. 'I was thinking specifically of an advertising campaign where the _Paradise_'s clothing is marketed with a boutique lingerie line, to give more of a sensual, decadent, forbidden feel.'

Moray was fascinated. 'Go on,' he prompted.

'There's something about lingerie which draws people in,' Denise explained. 'It's so sensual, so seductive; it's something that everyone feels drawn to but not everyone has the confidence to wear. By pairing what the _Paradise_ sells with products which have such connotations, it transfers the desirability to our own products, which people are much more comfortable buying. It will encourage people to see the _Paradise_ as something more…' she trailed off.

Moray watched Denise's absorption with captivation, drawn in by her passion. 'Do you have a particular label in mind?' He asked.

'_Ciel rose_,' Denise said, citing the label where she worked the previous year. 'Mademoiselle Clémence's range has all the qualities I've described and I think she'd be willing to collaborate.'

He mulled it over in his mind. It was certainly a solid idea. 'It's definitely worth investigating,' he told Denise. 'As Clémence's treasured former employee, would you like the chance to broach the topic with her? I've known her a long time but in this case I feel that she'd be more receptive to you than to me.'

'Thank you Mr Moray,' Denise replied, feeling the compliment. 'Would you like me to contact her today, or wait?'

'Next week might be better,' Moray responded. 'We should wait for yesterday's publicity to blow over slightly, otherwise Clémence will be too distracted to contemplate our offer.'

Denise nodded in agreement. 'Unless there's anything else, I should really be getting to my desk,' she told Moray.

'No, that's all for now,' Moray replied. 'Thank you Denise.'

Denise smiled to Moray and she turned to the door, glancing back over her shoulder as she went out.


	5. Chapter Four

_A note on the French_: Clémence is in this chapter and I've to replicate her manner of speaking as much as possible. For the most part, I've used only basic words but when I've used more complex phrases I've worked the English translation into the text. If you do understand French I hope mine is up to your standards; I have a degree in French but everyone makes mistakes…

* * *

'You think Moray's hot, don't you Denise?' Pauline asked with a smirk as they sat at lunch in a nearby café, watching the rain fall outside. They'd become fast friends in the months Denise had been at the _Paradise_ and could frequently be found lunching together, when the opportunity presented itself.

Denise nearly choked on a spoonful of her minted pea soup. '_What_? Pauline, I do _not_,' she spluttered. At Pauline's knowing look she added, 'he's charming yes, but I tend to automatically distrust charming people. They chat up everyone, that's just the way they are.'

'So you think he chats you up?' Pauline laughed at Denise's blush.

'That's not what I meant at all,' she retorted. 'He's handsome, he's charming and even a little bit sexy-' she blushed even deeper and inwardly cursed her complexion '-but he is my _boss_ and I respect him too much to think about him in that way.'

'Sure you do,' Pauline replied, disbelief clear in her tone. 'And the way you blush from head to toe when he looks at you, that's just the way your natural shyness expresses itself?'

'I don't blush every time he looks at me!' Denise exclaimed. 'Stop being ridiculous.'

'I'm surprised you don't swoon,' continued Pauline blithely, 'that man has bedroom eyes.' She sighed, 'what I wouldn't give to have a man look at me like that…'

'Enough Pauline,' cried Denise, genuinely vexed, 'there's nothing there.'

'Sorry, sorry.' Pauline apologised, 'it's for the best that you don't fancy him anyway. There's all sorts of talk about him.'

'What do you mean? 'Denise asked, curious despite herself.

'All the rumours-' Pauline lowered her voice to a whisper '-about how his wife died. Not to mention the ones you got caught up in, about how he's got a secret fiancé. I don't believe he's got a secret fiancé, he's still pining for his wife, poor sod.'

Denise quickly glanced around the café before asking, 'how did his wife die, Pauline?'

'Hit by a car right out front of the _Paradise_,' Pauline replied. 'Quite gruesome, apparently. People say they were arguing before it happened; I've even heard someone say he pushed her.' At the horrified look on Denise's face she hastily added, 'not that I believe it, of course. It's a horrible thing to say about anyone and especially Mr Moray. They were high school sweethearts you know, and married young – twenty one or twenty two, I think. And him a widower at twenty so tragic.'

Denise felt a stab of sympathy for the man. To have gone through so much, so early in life… Denise having to change her uni enrolment and juggle a few bills seemed nothing by comparison.

Glancing at her watch, Denise pushed her empty bowl of soup away. 'I have to get back,' she told Pauline. Today was the day she'd planned to contact Mademoiselle Clémence about the potential collaboration.

'Oh, me too,' replied Pauline. 'I have to get the latest figures to Mr Dudley by the end of the day and they won't export to the spreadsheet properly for some reason.' She laughed, 'what an exciting life we lead, eh?'

They left the café and walked back across the street. Before they entered the doors to the _Paradise_ Pauline said, 'you won't tell anyone what I've been saying, will you Denise? It's just idle gossip and we're not supposed to speak about Mrs Moray.'

'I wouldn't think of it Pauline,' replied Denise with a reassuring smile. They parted at the lifts and Denise headed to her desk to make a much-anticipated phone call to Mademoiselle Clémence.

* * *

'_Bonjour_, welcome to _ciel rose_, how can I help you?' Clémence voice came over the phone line.

'Clémence, hi! _C'est_ Denise, _ça va_?'

Ah Denise, _ma chérie_! It is _magnifique_ to hear your voice. How are things for you? I want to hear everything.' Clémence's expressive voice betrayed the delighted surprise she felt on hearing from Denise.

'I'm really well, Clémence,' Denise replied with a smile in her voice. 'My uncle is out of his coma though he's still in the hospital and there's a long way to go before he'll be back to normal. I'm studying part-time and the job is great. I do miss you, though.'

'Do you miss me or my lingerie, _chérie_? Clémence asked knowingly.

Denise laughed, 'maybe a little bit of both, Clémence. I've been dying to see your latest range.'

'Then you should come visit!' Clémence exclaimed. 'Stop by my little shop and see what we have.'

'I'll do that,' replied Denise. 'I'm in withdrawal. But, in the meantime I have a proposition that might be just the thing to tide me over. I hope you'll say yes.'

'_Chérie_, you intrigue me,' Clémence drawled. 'Tell me more.'

'Well,' Denise began in a tone of repressed excitement, 'I had an idea-'

'As you always do,' Clémence interrupted affectionately.

Denise smiled, 'well, I had an idea of a collaboration between _ciel rose_ and the _Paradise_ – a marketing campaign. I spoke with Mr Moray about it and he's given me the okay to talk to you and to set up a meeting if you were interested.' Denise waited with bated breath.

'Ah _ben_,' Clémence responded thoughtfully. 'This is a bold idea you have, Denise, but it might be just the thing I have been looking for. John agrees, you say?'

'Yes,' said Denise, 'he asked me to talk to you about it and see if I could get you on board.'

'That cunning man,' Clémence murmured. 'He seems to have realised that no-one can say no to you; not even he can resist.' She paused a moment. 'Tell him, _s'il vous plaît_, that I agree only because you have asked, and that I will be in touch with him.'

'_D'accord _Clémence,' replied Denise, 'I will. Would you like to arrange a time for a concept meeting with me now? Just a small one, with Mr Moray, our heads of marketing and design and several assistants.'

'You will be there, _non_?' Clémence asked.

'_Oui_, Clémence.'

'Then how can I resist? Let us choose a time next week and I then will go and – how do you say? Put my thinking cap on.'

They settled on a time for a meeting and said goodbye. Before hanging up, Clémence reiterated, 'be sure to pass on my messages to John, _n'est-ce pas_?'

'I will, Clémence,' replied Denise. 'Thanks so much for this; I can't wait to see you next week.'

'_Moi aussi, chérie,_' Clémence said, '_à Mercredi_ – I will see you Wednesday.'

They hung up and Denise practically skipped to Mr Moray's office.

* * *

Moray was sitting at his desk, staring abstractedly at the paperwork in front of him. He was lost in thoughts of the _Paradise_, of Clémence, and of Denise dressed in lingerie. Mostly the latter, if he was completely honest with himself. He tried to tell himself that his true interest lay in Denise's thought process and how she came up with ideas so different than the marketing department and so much better. What was the best that marketing could come up with? A floral-themed shoot. Denise's concept of combining Clémence's range with their own made marketing's ideas seem trite and tired. What made her think of it? Was it merely working with both companies, or was it something more? Perhaps she spent her days wearing _ciel rose_ against her skin… the thought of her demure appearance hiding such a secret made him shudder involuntarily.

Before his thoughts could progress to even more dangerous territory, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. 'Come in!' He called. When Denise walked in he drew an involuntary breath and steeled himself to appear composed. 'Denise,' he greeted her, 'have you made progress with Clémence already?'

Denise flashed her demure yet dazzling grin, her pent-up excitement so obvious and so addictive that he couldn't help but grin back.

'I have sir,' Denise replied triumphantly, 'and she's agreed to attend a concept meeting next week!'

'Really?' Moray queried, 'you truly are a wonder Denise; I can't even get her to agree to lunch with me lately and I've known her for years. Did she say why she agreed?'

Surprisingly, Denise blushed at this. 'Well sir,' she began, 'she did ask me to pass on a message to you…'

'Yes?' Moray prompted, amused. Knowing Clémence, it would be something provocative and far too close to the mark for his comfort. He waited for Denise to continue, gazing at her expectantly.

'She said to tell you,' Denise began haltingly, 'that the only reason she agreed was because I asked. And that she would be in touch with you.'

Moray grimaced slightly but quickly regained his humour. He knew that Clémence would have some pointed things to say to him when they spoke, probably regarding the young woman still standing in front of smiled at Denise, 'thank you Denise, really. I can't thank you enough for your work on this.'

Denise beamed, 'it was my pleasure sir. The _Paradise's_ clothes and Clémence's lingerie are each so striking in their own right, I think that combined they could really be something spectacular.'

'I agree wholeheartedly,' Moray replied. 'In fact, I'm very keen to hear what ideas you might have for specific shots. Can you make some time to put some ideas together for me, before the concept meeting with Clémence?'

'I'd love to, sir,' Denise responded excitedly, head already swimming with ideas.

Moray's phone started to ring and he reached for it. Before picking it up he said, 'make a time with Susy and we'll meet again to see what you've come up with.'He flashed her a grin and gave his attention to the phone.

Denise smiled in agreement and turned to the door. Before she reached it she heard Moray speak into the phone, 'Clémence, _mon ange_, light of my life…'

* * *

'You try to flatter me, John,' Clémence told him, 'it is telling me that you feel defensive. This is true, _non_?'

Moray coughed, 'Clémence, with you I always seem to feel like a small child whose mother has caught him doing some he's not supposed to.'

Clémence laughed, 'it is a gift, _mon chère_. But you did not answer my question so I will answer it for you. _Oui_, you feel defensive. _Pourquoi?_ I will tell you why: you find yourself so enchanted by the divine Denise that you are allowing her to arrange things that you would normally let no-one but yourself arrange. You are expecting to be questioned about it.'

'Denise has a unique gift, Clémence,' Moray rebutted, 'she has amazing ideas for the label and I would be a fool if I let her talents go to waste.'

'And she is so beautiful, is she not? She is indeed like an angel sent from heaven, with a temperament to match.' Moray was silent. 'You disagree, _mon chère_?' Clémence asked. 'If she is not an angel then she is a saint. To have experienced so much so young one must be a saint to manage as she has, with such grace and poise.'

'Yes,' Moray agreed, 'to manage as she has with her uncle's illness, she is a special girl.'

'Not just her uncle, _mon chère_, but her parents too. You know that they died when she was sixteen, in a car accident, and she came from Scotland to live with her uncle? And now to nearly lose the strength from one so young.'

Moray was silent. He hadn't known about her parents; hadn't thought to ask why her parents weren't supporting her instead of her uncle. He reproached himself for such an oversight.

'You are silent John,' Clémence commented, 'you did not know?'

'No I didn't,' he replied. 'It does make her situation even more remarkable.'

'Something else to admire, _non_?' Clémence asked. 'Admit it; you think her very beautiful. It is nothing to be ashamed of; I think her very beautiful also. If I had not been her employer I might have bought her a drink, tried to get to know her a little better – if you know what I mean, _mon chère_…' she trailed off suggestively.

'Clémence! Moray exclaimed, 'why would you consider such a thing? She doesn't even like women in that way!' Moray was unaccountably angry at the thought.

'How do you know?' Clémence purred. 'Have you seen her with a man? Have you seen her with a woman? Are you just projecting your own desires? Think on it, John.'

Moray tried to master the feelings which were attempting to overwhelm him. It couldn't be true, could it? Clémence was merely attempting to inflame the situation, to press his buttons as she dearly loved to do. The deep chuckle which came down the phone line seemed to confirm this, and snapped Moray out of his daze.

'Don't we have business to discuss, Clémence?' He asked roughly.

'We do, but it can wait. We are meeting next Wednesday as a group and I shall then bring my ideas to the table. I trust that you will have your own, also. _Vraiment_, this is an excellent idea from Denise. I shall have to find a very special way to thank her-'

'Enough Clémence,' Moray interrupted, not wanting to hear any more. 'I'm sure we both have work to do, so I'll look forward to seeing you next week.'

'_D'accord_,' replied Clémence. 'I cannot wait.'

After he had hung up, Moray sat at his desk, staring into space. Clémence knew exactly what to say to rile him up; he knew she did it on purpose. And every time he fell for it. He felt like a fool.

'Of course she doesn't fancy women,' Moray muttered aloud, remembering the moments he and Denise had shared the previous week. He sighed, not even want to think of what Clémence might have in store for him next. Wednesday couldn't be over quickly enough.

Perhaps he should ask Dudley if he wanted to go to the pub after work; Moray felt like he needed a drink.


	6. Chapter Five

Clémence bustled into the room ahead of Moray, several _ciel rose_ bags on her arm. She scanned the room, espied Denise and exclaimed 'Oh Denise, _ma chérie_! How I have wished to see you, it has been too long.'

Denise smiled as she and Clémence exchanged _bisous_, kissing each other on the cheek. '_Bonjour _Clémence_, ça va?_'

'_Ca va magnifique, chérie!' _Clémence exclaimed. 'I was so excited to hear from you. And I brought a gift bag of all your favourites-' she passed Denise the largest of the _ciel rose_ bags '-and whenever you come visit me in my little shop you will receive the best discounts; that is how much I have missed seeing your beautiful face every day.'

Denise tried to protest but she was overridden by Clémence. 'Nonsense, _ma chérie_. You deserve it.' She patted Denise's cheek and moved away towards the front of the room where Moray was waiting, an inscrutable expression on his face.

As Denise sat down at the conference table she noticed a range of puzzled looks being directed at her by her colleagues. Unless they'd read her CV they wouldn't be aware of her association with Clémence (and maybe wouldn't have made the connection even if they had) and she supposed that the scene would have looked strange, particularly if they were unfamiliar with the effusive temperament of Clémence. She mentally shrugged and sat down.

Moray stood at the front of the room and cleared his throat. Once he had gained the small group's attention he began, 'we all know why we are here: we want to change our advertising strategy. I think collaboration with Clémence's boutique is a fabulous idea and I know what we come up with together today will be truly exceptional. Clémence, would you like to begin?'

'_Bien sûr, mon chère_,' replied Clémence. I think it's a superb notion to collaborate on such a scale. I've brought some samples of our latest range and we could see how the styles suit what you have.' She started pulling items from her various bags, concoctions of silk and lace which caused some eyebrows to rise and other smiles of interest.

'An excellent notion,' spoke up Miss Audrey, 'but I must confess I am having difficulty visualising how these-' she gestured at the items on the table '-can be the displayed simultaneously with our own products. Without appearing lewd, that is.'

'Ah,' Clémence sighed, 'you need a demonstration. Denise, _vous m'aidez, non_? A little assistance is required. What colours are you wearing today?'

Denise considered which bustier she'd decided to wear that morning. 'White trimmed with navy blue,' she answered Clémence as several of her colleagues frowned in confusion; today her outfit consisted of a cream knit boat neck paired with a lavender tulle skirt.

'Excellent!' Clémence proclaimed. She marched to the rack of _Paradise_ clothes at one side of the room and rifled through to find a tea-length navy blue skirt with box pleats. '_Parfait_ – it is almost something a nun would wear-' at this Moray coughed with amusement '-Denise, _s'il vous plaît_.' She gestured to a screen in the corner.

Denise stood and walked behind the screen, feeling the bafflement emanating from the group at the table, with the exception of Moray. Denise was so used to this aspect of Clémence's personality that she didn't think twice. When she was behind the screen Clémence demanded: 'off! Take it all off – _mais_ not the foundation garments.'

Obediently Denise removed her blouse, skirt and heels. Clémence passed Denise the skirt. 'Now, put this on. Make sure it hides the suspender belt.'

'_D'accord_, Clémence,' Denise absently replied in agreement as she adjusted the skirt.

'_Finis_? You are ready?' Clémence asked, poking her head behind the screen. _Fabuleuse_ – now, come to this chair.' She pulled Denise from behind the screen, revealing her outfit: a pure white bustier trimmed with navy blue ribbon at the cups and shoulder straps, paired with the high-waisted skirt Clémence had picked. She walked in stocking feet towards the plush chair which Clémence had pulled from somewhere while Denise was changing. Thanks to spending a year working with Clémence, situations like this were commonplace. Her colleagues however, were another matter; she wished she had a camera to capture their facial expressions: Miss Audrey's eyes had bulged out so far Denise was afraid she might have a heart attack. She glanced at Moray and the look in his eyes caused her cheeks to colour with the faintest of blushes, making her quickly focus elsewhere.

She stood next to the chair and looked to Clémence for direction. 'Pretend you are home at the end of the day: remove your stockings.'

Denise obediently propped her leg on the seat and hitched one side of her skirt high up her thigh, revealing the tops of her stockings and her white and blue lace suspenders. She heard a sharp intake of breath from the table as she reached to unclasp them. Clémence, on hearing the gasp exclaimed, 'there you see, John! A picture of magnificence, confidence and sensuality without being - how did you say, Miss Audrey? Lewd. _Merci_, Denise.'

Denise efficiently re-attached her suspenders to her stockings and walked behind the screen to change. As she did so she heard Moray speak to Clémence, something in his voice she couldn't identify: 'excellent Clémence, that's exactly the kind of thing we were looking for. But I hope Denise didn't mind such attention.'

'Not at all, Mr Moray,' replied Denise composedly, walking from behind the screen in her normal garb.

'_Ben non_,' cried Clémence. 'Denise is as my little doll.'

Together they sat down to begin brainstorming.

After she had finished dinner, Denise decided to celebrate a successful day at work by baking a batch of chocolate-chip cookies. She could take a plate to Uncle Ed and distribute some more among her neighbours.

Before starting, she changed out of her work outfit. She was desperate to try on a particular corset which Clémence had thrown into her bag of treats: it was a lovely shade of baby blue with delicate white polka dots over the bodice and straps, and a small white bow nestled between the cups, white ruffles edging the top of the bodice. It fit like a second skin and was so gorgeous that Denise decided to spend the evening wearing it, paired with her grey pyjama pants and white knit cardigan.

As she added the choc chips to the cookie mixture she thought with excitement about the deal she'd helped broker today. People had been reticent at first but in the end everyone had seen what an advantage the collaboration was for the _Paradise_. Her secret lingerie obsession was now out in the open but she couldn't regret it, given the results. And it didn't hurt that her co-workers had come to realise that she wasn't as innocent and naïve as she appeared. Little did they know that working for Mademoiselle Clémence, she'd occasionally model the more demure items of the collection. Nothing too revealing but enough that showing a little leg, midriff and cleavage wasn't an issue for her.

Denise put the last tray of cookies in the oven and decided to make a pot of tea; just as she was adding the boiling water to the leaves she heard a knock at the door. Thinking it might be the children from down the hall following the smell of cookies, she padded barefoot to the door, shaking her hair out as she went. Opening it, she found to her great surprise that it wasn't Henry, Ava or Lucy from 3B. It was John Moray.


	7. Chapter Six

Moray had been distracted since the meeting with Clémence; more than distracted. He was tormented by visions of Denise as she had been in the meeting: the look in her eyes, the confidence she displayed, the sheer sensuality of her movements. As she followed Clémence's instructions, he was struck by her poise, her grace and, above all, the unguardedness of her actions. The habitual act of removing her stockings, performed as if she were alone, had caused a frisson of unbridled lust to course through him. He couldn't prevent the gasp which escaped him, much to his mortification. He was sure someone must have noticed his distracted state; he knew Clémence had, he had marked the knowing look in her eye and had neatly sidestepped any private interaction with her after the concept meeting. He'd holed up in his office, telling Susy that he was not to be disturbed, and attempted to get a hold of himself.

It hadn't worked. In fact, it had made everything worse. Left alone with his thoughts, his imagination had gone wild. He was consumed, enthralled, captivated by all that Denise was and all that she could be to him.

His thoughts again wandered back to that first meeting so many months ago; so fleeting that he sometimes doubted that she even remembered. But it was imprinted indelibly on his memory, as clear as if it were yesterday. How had he been so bewitched?

His train of thought was interrupted by a knock on his door. He looked up to see Susy in the doorway.

'Sorry Mr Moray sir,' she began, 'but it's past seven and I'm heading off for the night.'

He looked at his watch before glancing back at Susy, 'I didn't realise how late it was. I'll see you in the morning, Susy.'

Susy departed with a smile, leaving Moray once again alone with his thoughts.

This would not do; he had to see her. He knew he shouldn't, he shouldn't even know where she lived, let alone go there after hours. But he couldn't seem to help himself; he was drawn like a moth to a flame.

He mechanically collected his belongings and headed out of the office. Almost before he was aware of it he was standing at Denise's door; unsure of the details of how he got there. He raised his hand and knocked.

Each stood frozen at the sight of the other: Denise was surprised beyond measure at Moray's appearance at her door; Moray had lost his breath at the sight before him. Denise was barefoot, with a thin pair of grey cotton pants clinging to her legs. Her torso was moulded and shaped by a corset which at first glance seemed demure but was in fact far from it; his eyes were automatically drawn to her breasts, spilling artfully over the cups. What truly stayed him, however, was the sight of her hair flowing loose over her shoulders – in the same manner it had during their first memorable meeting. He hadn't seen it that way since; it made her look younger, softer and infinitely more touchable. So it seemed to Moray, at least.

After a full minute spent standing still in the doorway, Denise managed to snap herself out of her daze. 'Mr Moray, sir!' she exclaimed in surprise. 'Forgive me, I wasn't expecting any visitors. Please, come in.' She moved from the doorway so that Moray could enter, and pulled her cardigan closed.

He did so, glancing around her apartment curiously. If he had to describe her style, he'd call it "French Provincial with an oriental flair;" the studio apartment was tastefully decorated in pastel shades, living spaces marked out by a series of plush rugs on the hardwood floor. Her white-painted, cast iron bed was half-hidden by a white screen, stockings and a skirt carelessly draped over it.

'I'm sorry to intrude on your personal time,' Moray apologised slightly self-consciously, 'but I couldn't stop my mind buzzing with ideas about the _Paradise_ and _ciel rose_ and I knew you'd understand. I felt almost compelled…' he trailed off, a boyish grin gracing his features.

Denise smiled back, 'I do understand. I was thinking about it myself; it needs to be tasteful: sexy without being over-the-top.' She gestured at her small table, 'would you like to sit? I've just finished baking and I've made some herbal tea if you'd like some.'

'Thank you Denise,' Moray replied, 'as always, your manners are impeccable. Herbal tea might be just the thing to quiet my wayward thoughts.'

Denise laughed at his verbosity, 'were you an English major at uni, by any chance?'

'Business,' replied Moray with a grin. 'I did minor in English classics though; it sometimes comes through in my vocabulary.'

'It does at that,' said Denise, grinning back. She stepped over to the kitchen to get the first tray of cookies from the oven. Efficiently placing several on a plate, she poured two cups of tea. Tea and cookies in hand, she moved to sit with Moray.

An hour later, they were poring over a pile of sketches which Denise had pulled from a between the pages of one of her marketing textbooks. Sitting closely side-by-side, cookies half-eaten, Denise and Moray had forgotten the rest of the world in favour of concept sketches and combinations of _Paradise_ couture and _ciel rose _lingerie.

They were something of a dream team: following the same train of thought, bouncing ideas back and forth, building on them. They'd pulled Denise's sketches apart to create a dozen different arrangements, including backdrops and props. Denise's tablet was propped in front of them, _ciel rose_'s range on the screen.

Unbeknownst to Denise, with every piece of lingerie they scrutinised, Moray was picturing Denise wearing it. He couldn't seem to stop himself and had long since given up trying; it drew him on to new heights of creativity. He was inspired.

Of course, sitting so close to her whilst having these thoughts and looking the way she looked: hair down, cardigan occasionally fluttering open to reveal that divine corset, tantalising cleavage spilling from the top. Denise, caught up in her musings, was oblivious to the picture she presented, innocent yet sensual. Her lack of awareness of her attractiveness made her all the more irresistible to him.

He couldn't help but speak, 'I never cease marvelling at your natural aptitude for this, Denise. Your talent and enthusiasm drives me to new heights. You are an inspiration to me.'

Denise blushed at his words, 'thank you, sir. You seem to make me better.'

'I don't know about that,' responded Moray. 'You burn so brightly by yourself.' He looked at the sketches and notes in front of him, 'I'll get these to marketing tomorrow; I'm sure that they can build on what we've started. I'm certain they'd welcome your input.'

'Might I make a request, Mr Moray?' Denise asked. 'Can it not be made known that I helped you with these? I think there are a few people who might not like that I contributed.'

'If you wish it, Denise,' Moray answered, 'but don't you desire a share of the glory?'

'I don't need the credit. Spending time working like this is all I need; and seeing the marketing campaign come together, of course.'

'Then I can't help but agree,' Moray replied lowly. As they talked, they had turned towards each other at the table, leaning inwards. Neither realised how close they had come to each other until they were nose-to-nose.

Both seemed to become aware of their proximity at the same time, as well as the intimacy of their situation. They leaned back sharply, Denise jumping up and gathering the teacups from the table. Moray stood and moved awkwardly in the direction of the door.

'I shouldn't keep you,' he said. 'It's later than I thought and you should get to bed.' Inwardly he winced; he oughtn't to think of Denise and beds together: it was bad for his composure, among other things. 'I'm sure it will be a full day tomorrow; I'm sorry for disturbing you at home.'

Denise put down the dishes in the kitchen and walked to meet Moray at the door. 'Please don't apologise, sir,' she replied as they stood close, next to the door. 'My evening turned out far better than I could have imagined,' she blushed at the implication, turning her gaze towards Moray's feet, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Moray felt his hand reach out to tilt her chin up so that their eyes met. They stood so close that he could feel her breath on his neck, raising goose bumps.

'Denise,' he whispered, leaning imperceptibly closer.

Denise clung to the doorknob with one hand as she looked upwards into his eyes. They were so expressive, speaking to her in a language which she was afraid to comprehend.

In the hall outside, a door slammed. Moray and Denise jumped, snapping out of their daze once more. Denise turned the handle of the door; Moray, clearing his throat, murmured his farewells and walked out the door and down the hall. Before he reached the stairs at the end he looked over his shoulder at Denise.

After watching him go, Denise closed the door to her apartment, leaning back on the smooth surface and releasing a deep breath, feeling her knees trembling.


End file.
